Free Stranger Things Happen by Kelly Link

slow, turning to look behind. As
Claire approaches, she keeps one hand on the handlebars and
stretches the other hand out towards Samantha. Just as she is about
to grab Samantha, the babysitter turns back and plucks the hat off
Claire's head.
    "Shit!" the babysitter says, and drops it. There is a drop of
blood forming on the fleshy part of the babysitter's hand, black in
the moonlight, where the Specialist's hat has bitten her.
    Claire dismounts, giggling. Samantha watches as the Specialist's
hat rolls away. It picks up speed, veering across the attic floor,
and disappears, thumping down the stairs. "Go get it," Claire says.
"You can be the Specialist this time."
    "No," the babysitter says, sucking at her palm. "It's time for
bed."
    When they go down the stairs, there is no sign of the
Specialist's hat. They brush their teeth, climb into the ship-bed,
and pull the covers up to their necks. The babysitter sits between
their feet. "When you're Dead," Samantha says, "do you still get
tired and have to go to sleep? Do you have dreams?"
    "When you're Dead," the babysitter says, "everything's a lot
easier. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to. You
don't have to have a name, you don't have to remember. You don't
even have to breathe."
    She shows them exactly what she means.
    #
    When she has time to think about it, (and now she has all the
time in the world to think) Samantha realizes with a small pang
that she is now stuck indefinitely between ten and eleven years
old, stuck with Claire and the babysitter. She considers this. The
number 10 is pleasing and round, like a beach ball, but all in all,
it hasn't been an easy year. She wonders what 11 would have been
like. Sharper, like needles maybe. She has chosen to be Dead,
instead. She hopes that she's made the right decision. She wonders
if her mother would have decided to be Dead, instead of dead, if
she could have.
    Last year they were learning fractions in school, when her
mother died. Fractions remind Samantha of herds of wild horses,
piebalds and pintos and palominos. There are so many of them, and
they are, well, fractious and unruly. Just when you think you have
one under control, it throws up its head and tosses you off.
Claire's favorite number is 4, which she says is a tall, skinny
boy. Samantha doesn't care for boys that much. She likes numbers.
Take the number 8 for instance, which can be more than one thing at
once. Looked at one way, 8 looks like a bent woman with curvy hair.
But if you lay it down on its side, it looks like a snake curled
with its tail in its mouth. This is sort of like the difference
between being Dead, and being dead. Maybe when Samantha is tired of
one, she will try the other.
    On the lawn, under the oak trees, she hears someone calling her
name. Samantha climbs out of bed and goes to the nursery window.
She looks out through the wavy glass. It's Mr. Coeslak. "Samantha,
Claire!" he calls up to her. "Are you all right? Is your father
there?" Samantha can almost see the moonlight shining through him.
"They're always locking me in the tool room. Goddamn spooky
things," he says. "Are you there, Samantha? Claire? Girls?"
    The babysitter comes and stands beside Samantha. The babysitter
puts her finger to her lip. Claire's eyes glitter at them from the
dark bed. Samantha doesn't say anything, but she waves at Mr.
Coeslak. The babysitter waves too. Maybe he can see them waving,
because after a little while he stops shouting and goes away. "Be
careful," the babysitter says. "
He'll 
be coming soon.
It will be coming soon." She takes Samantha's hand, and leads her
back to the bed, where Claire is waiting. They sit and wait. Time
passes, but they don't get tired, they don't get any older.
Who's there? 

Just air
.
    The front door opens on the first floor, and Samantha, Claire,
and the babysitter can hear someone creeping, creeping up the
stairs. "Be quiet," the babysitter says. "It's the Specialist."
    Samantha and Claire are quiet. The nursery